


A Mighty Fine Illusion

by SneakyBunyip



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Albert is Adorable, Arthur Poses, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Photography, The smallest dash of angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 12:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/pseuds/SneakyBunyip
Summary: Arthur lets Mason take his picture, but he sure ain't gonna smile about it.





	A Mighty Fine Illusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wilhuffnpuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilhuffnpuff/gifts).



> For Wilhuffnpuff for talking me into playing this game again. Look what you made me do! :3

“This ain’t exactly the safest place to be out in the open, Mr. Mason,” Arthur grumbled, though he still sat himself among the wild daisies as directed.

“Nonsense! There’s no one around for miles,” Albert Mason chirped, still looking at Arthur through the camera lens as he swept an arm towards the dense trees surrounding the clearing. 

“That ain’t reassurin’,” Arthur protested. A branch broke, and Arthur snapped his neck to his right, a hand going to his gun belt.

The rabbit hopped out of a nearby bush into the sunlight. It sniffed at Arthur then bound in the opposite direction.

“Mr. Morgan, please, just sit still.”

“I’d rather not be sittin’ at all.” Arthur complained, shifting uncomfortably on the ground. “You couldn’t have picked a better spot for this? We’re in the dead center of grizzly territory.” 

The aspiring nature photographer waved a dismissive hand. “This is a perfect spot for a photograph. The daisies are blooming, the grass is dewy and green, the wind-”

“-is spreadin’ our scent to every wolf, bear, and cougar within a mile of us.” Arthur finished.

Mason peeked from behind the camera, wrinkling his narrow nose at Arthur before taking a moment to tilt his short-brimmed straw hat back to wipe the sweat from his brow. In the late afternoon light, his hazel eyes looked more green, and Arthur wondered how he never noticed that before today.

“Well then...you will simply have to scare them off!” With a self-satisfied nod, Mason resumed fiddling with his camera.

Arthur laughed. “I think you got too much faith in me, Mr. Mason.”

Still behind the camera, Mason raised a pointed finger. “You once saved me from a dozen wolves as I recall!”

“It was more like five.”

“And protected me from hungry alligators.”

“You used me as bait!”

“In any case, you have performed many heroic feats for the sake of my art and I am confident you will make short work of any creature that wishes us harm. Now, if you could just rest your hand in the grass to your right. Yes, good. Now lean a little this way...no...a bit more...Perfect. Tuck your right ankle under your left leg and...yes. Now, rest your left hand on your belt buckle. Tilt head forward, a bit. Good, good! Now hold it!”

Arthur held his breath.

“And...Smile.”

“No.”

“...Smile?”

“Ain't doin' it.”

Mason’s head popped up again, his thin, dark eyebrows knitting in disapproval. “Mr. Morgan, I do not intend on calling his piece “A Sourpuss in the Daisies”.

“If ya don’t hurry up, you’ll be callin’ it ‘Gunslinger Gettin’ Eaten by a Grizzly in the Daisies’.”

“That title is far too long, and...oh darn it, you are out of focus. Alrigh, a moment please.” 

The wind picked, cutting through the afternoon heat and making the daisies dance around Arthur. It breezed towards Mason, carrying bits of nature with it as he fiddled with his camera. 

When Mason perked up once again, his eyes shining with eagerness. “And now I am ready. If you please?”

There were white petals dotting Mason’s meticulously groomed beard.

Arthur smiled at that.

The powder sparked, a light flashed, and the picture was taken.

Arthur blinked away the spots in front of his eyes and started to stand. “Alright. Let’s get you outta here before- _ ow! _ ” Arthur looked down at his arm to find a dozen black ants nipping at his skin.

“Looks like I found me an ant hill and, ouch! Get off me, you lil bastards!”

Before Arthur could swipe the ants away, Mason charged in, brandishing a rolled up newspaper. “Oh dear!” He exclaimed, slapping the newspaper against Arthur’s arm. “Oh! Oh dear me!” Mason continued, smacking Arthur's arm again and again and...

“Hey, whoa, easy there. It's alright, Mr. Mason. I think ya got ‘em.”  Arthur gently grabbed the newspaper and used it to flick off the remaining ants. “It’s just a couple of ant bites. Ain’t nothing to worry about.”

"One can never be too sure about these things," Mason frowned, taking  Arthur’s hand and stretching out his arm out to examine it. Although, Arthur couldn’t see the photographer’s face under the brim of his hat he could hear the concern in his voice. “I once heard of a man who was bitten by ants while fishing on the San Luis River. He swelled up like a balloon, his throat closing to the point where he couldn’t breathe and he…he...” 

Mason's words died in this throat, giving Arthur the impression the poor fisherman probably didn’t meet a good end. 

When Mason looked back up at Arthur, his hazel eyes shone with concern. “How is your throat? Is it closing? Can you swallow?”

“Well, uh…” Arthur swallowed. “So far so good, I guess.”

Mason didn’t respond. He was just looking at Arthur with those eyes. Those damn eyes that made Arthur do all sorts of crazy things for the man: fight wolves, chase down wild horses, and get alligators to chase him…

Arthur didn’t know much, but he did know that when a man looks at him the way Albert Mason does, his first instinct is to protect him at all cost.

“Really, I’m alright,” Arthur grunted. 

As if completely dismissing Arthur’s reassurances, Mason took Arthur’s hand and slid his sleeve upwards to examine the gunslinger’s sun-toasted skin.  Arthur stood perfectly still, his eyes widening at Mason being this close to him.  Mason’s hands were soft, real soft. The kind of soft that reminded Arthur of the fancy silks in the St. Denis stores that were far too pretty for the likes of him. 

Mason’s fingers touched near the small red dots on Arthur’s arm, but all Arthur could do was wish he had bathed when he rode through Valentine the day before. Mason shouldn’t have to touch him when he was covered in dirt and grime from long days riding on dusty roads. He deserved to touch someone who’s clean like he is. And anyway, how did Mason always look like he just walked out of an expensive saloon, his white shirt all bright and his thick beard always freshly brushed?

Arthur closed his hand as Mason looked at a particularly nasty bite near his wrist, as if to hide the fact his hands were callused and scarred up.

“I promise I’m fine,” Arthur said, trying to sound soft, but his words coming out like gruff sandpaper.

“I’m glad,” Mason replied, his voice as smooth as polished brass. 

Mason’s hand rested over Arthur’s closed fist and remained there.

Arthur didn’t pull away.

Neither did Mason.

This was uncharted territory for Arthur Morgan. He never knew what to do with people like Albert Mason when they looked at him like this. Mary Linton had looked at him the same way and he felt just as lost in the dark with her as he did at this moment.  Navigating through feelings with someone like Albert or Mary was like trying to guide a bull through a china shop. 

And he definitely didn’t want to break Albert Mason.

Still...

Against his better judgement, Arthur reached up and tilted Mason's hat back so he could see the way the green in his eyes brightened in the sunlight. 

“Why’d you wanna take my picture, anyhow?” Arthur asked.

Mason’s smile came out as a playful smirk. “As a nature photographer I am willing to take pictures of all manner of beasts in this beautiful country, Mr. Morgan.”

“Ha ha, real funny.”

Mason’s smile softened a bit. “I am may not be the smartest man in the wilds, but I have read a wanted poster or two since I came to this part of the country. I suppose...I wanted to capture your image in a way your daily life may not allow. You are more than just a sketch with a bounty printed over his head. You deserve a picture where you are at peace, calm, even if it is merely an illusion of a carefree life.”

Arthur chuckled. “That is a mighty fine illusion, Mr. Mason.”

“Albert,” Mason corrected.

“Albert…” Arthur tested the name out and...yeah it suited him. “Albert, call me, Arthur.”

“I’d very much like that, Arthur.” Albert smiled.

For the first time in a real long while, Arthur felt a...stillness...within him; a genuine quiet where the world wasn’t rotten with Pinkertons and O’Driscolls and man-eating beasts. 

He opened his callused hands and threaded his fingers with Albert’s, watching Albert’s quiet smile grow with his own. 

And for one beautiful moment, he let himself live the illusion.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: [SneakyBunyip](http://sneakybunyip.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow me on twitter: [SneakyBunyip](https://twitter.com/sneakybunyip)


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